Tag: Writing

Christianity, Communication, Conservation, Creation, Dogs, Environment, Faith, Freelancing, Hope, Horses, Listening, Love, Movies, Pets, Relationships, Spirituality, Uncategorized, Writing

“If I could talk to the animals…”

gregoryjoel

Just a couple of more days of triple digits. The weather folks predict a ten percent possibility of rain today. In Texas that means nothing is coming but cloud cover and more humidity. The Monday forecast of fifty percent chance of rain is more realistic. I’m sure the ten percent is just a ‘cover your butt’ caveat for local meteorologists. Weather people and baseball players are the only folks I know of who are financially rewarded for doing their job correctly thirty percent of the time. Just saying…

I was scanning the newsfeed this morning and came across a story that tore at my heart strings. According to researchers observing the orca (what we called ‘killer whales’ growing up) population near British Colombia, a female orca bore a new calf. The calf didn’t survive, and the grieving mother was seen carrying the dead calf on her back for the next two days.

The story stayed with me as my wife and I shared coffee on the porch this morning. We are pet parents, and like most pet parents, we ascribe human behaviors and emotions to our animals. Some would say we’ve lost our minds. In fact, my son told me I needed to get a friend after hearing me talk to our ‘Coyotahula’ (she’s half coyote and half Catahoula), Maggie. I’m lucky enough to have a friend already. In fact, I have several, but Maggie is part of the family. Pet parents will understand what I mean.

Margaret and I often put words in our dog’s mouth. We joke about the stories we come up with for the conversation that must be going on between them. We’ve thought about creating a video, but that’s another story, and you’d probably have to be here to get the humor.

I guess the point I’m trying to make, is that we aren’t that far off when we ascribe human traits to the animal kingdom. When I was growing up, the line between animals and people was more distinct. That line has dimmed as I’ve gotten older. I may be a bit anthropomorphic, but I find our friends in the animal kingdom to be more human than some humans…

The ancient Hebrew writings talk about our original relationship with the rest of the animal kingdom. I tend to forget that, though humans have a higher intellectual ability (and I’m not always sure of that – after all, look who is President…) we are still part of the animal kingdom. In the Book of Enoch, which wasn’t canonized into what we know as the Hebrew Old Testament, we’re told that we shared a common language with the rest of the animal kingdom. The whole “Doctor Doolittle” thing makes sense to me. After all, we share ninety-eight percent of our DNA with the greater apes. Why not the rest of the animals?

It seems to me that the Book of Enoch is a metaphor for our interconnectedness with all things. I’d like to believe that there will be a day when I can communicate clearly with all the denizens of the Earth. I have some questions I’d like to clarify. Do horses really sound like Mr. Ed (this may be lost on my younger readers – “Willlll-bur”)? Do donkeys sound like Eddie Murphy? I often wonder if snails and turtles could talk, would their speech be as slow as their movements? “Goooooooooooooood mooooooorrrnnnniiiiing…”

Since that day isn’t here yet, I’ll have to rely on personal observation and experience. If I ‘listen’ and pay attention to what they’re trying to tell me, my dogs, the horses, and I seem to communicate just fine. Maggie says ‘good morning the same way each day. Once it’s daylight I can count on her to jump on the bed, lick my face until I get up, and wait for her dose of morning loving.

When I remember how interconnected we are, I understand them better. When I remember how interconnected we are, I treat them better – more like I want to be treated. When I treat them differently, I begin to fulfill my intended role as a human – one of stewardship rather than domination – and act appropriately.

I guess that’s why the orca’s story made such an impact on me this morning. The mother orca was grieving, just like you and I do when we suffer a loss. I felt sad for her. I felt sad that the numbers of orcas, like so many species, are declining because we humans have failed as stewards and excelled at domination.

If we ever do develop the same language as the rest of the animal kingdom, I doubt I’ll find the words to tell them how sorry I am for the way human beings have treated them and their habitat. Like Dad always told me, “actions speak louder than words”. If I start acting differently, maybe I can start apologizing now…

Christian Mysticism, Christianity, Chronic Illness, Communication, Dogs, Emotional Health, Faith, Freelancing, Gratitude, Growing Up, Health, Hope, Horses, Listening, Love, Patience, Prayer, Relationships, Spirituality, Uncategorized, Writing

Straight From the Horse’s Mouth

gregoryjoel

Relief is in sight for the beleaguered! The forecast for the day is for cooler temperatures, at least for the next two or three days. Only in Fort Worth would we be excited by temperatures in the mid-nineties. Such are summers in Texas…

The last few days have been hectic, so I thought I’d take a break and catch the online sermon from church last Sunday morning. I’m still questioning the idea of worship in the corporate setting, so my ‘attendance’ remains online. I value the thoughts of our preacher, even if I’m still uncomfortable with how we do ‘church’ in our culture. Unfortunately, the livestream of the sermon kept disconnecting. It doesn’t happen often, but it does happen. I can relate to that. For the last two or three days, my prayers have been few and far between. I’ve been feeling a little low and my connection with my Higher Power is in a constant cycle of cutting out and reconnecting. I’ve felt like I’ve been in a constant ‘buffering’ state and I can’t quite reach 100%.

Connection problems can and do happen. God’s end may always broadcast a strong signal, but my reception gets spotty from time to time. The connection difficulties are always on my end. When it happens I often have to stop and clean out my ‘antennae’. Occasionally, I get far too busy, over-tired or just plain lazy and my mind gets clogged with self-pity, resentment, and self-centeredness. I begin to sound much like Eeyore in A.A. Milne’s, Winnie the Pooh – “Woe is me, I can’t find my tail…”

I’m not unique. Some of the most spiritual people I know feel a disconnect from their Higher Power on occasion. The sixteenth century Spanish mystic, St. John of the Cross, called this disconnect, “the dark night of the soul”. For those of us who pray, who converse with the Spirit of the Universe, we know what he’s talking about. There are times when it feels like prayers fall on deaf ears. We listen intently for answers that don’t come. God is silent. We feel alone, left to our own devices.

When I feel isolated and disconnected, I begin to wonder where God is. I start to question my faith. I’m filled with doubts: little ones at first that multiply into crisis of faith. I used to think this was anathema to me. My upbringing had taught me that questioning one’s faith destined me to the fires of hell. That haunted me for many years, but today I know that faith without questioning is not much of a faith at all. God is much bigger than my doubts. If I continue to pray and listen I will hear God’s response in the most extraordinary, yet simple, ways.

I do some work at a stable not far from my home. Don’t tell anyone, but I’d do it for free just because I love being there. There are three horses, Dollar, Lightfoot, and Trooper (‘the boys’ as I call them). Dollar is the oldest, at seventeen. The other two are two or three-year-old rescues; adopted wild mustangs from herds in Arizona and Utah.

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Now I am no ‘horse whisperer’ by any means, but I’ve developed quite a relationship with Trooper and Lightfoot. I was warned they were skittish around people, but that hasn’t even been close to my experience. They have loved and ‘hugged’ on me since the day we met. When I pull up to the stables, they amble over to say hello and let me love on them.

They are one of the ways I find reconnection with my Higher Power. I leave the stables with my spirit more in tune with the universe. There’s a buzz, a vibration, and I begin to hear God whisper. Decisions come easier. Heck, life becomes easier. My mind is free to explore the realm of possibilities, to work and play again. Most importantly, I begin to feel a sense of belonging, of being a part of something far bigger than I. My gratitude grows, and my doubts are erased. All of this happens by simply allowing God to love on me through others, whether they have four legs or two.

I’m basically an introvert. I find the company of my dogs and the horses to be my safe, comfortable place. My beautiful wife, on the other hand, is extremely social and extroverted. She loves to be on the go and around others. I often joke that I’d been more places in the first year of marriage than I had in the previous ten. For that reason, the last almost three years since her back surgery have been hard on her. I’m thrilled when she’s able to get out. I know it’s her way of reconnecting, of hearing God’s voice.

God’s voice becomes clear through our relationships with people and the world around us. When I’m aware of the beauty of creation, I strive to be a better steward of God’s world. I believe that God’s silence is simply His way of reminding me of the importance of relationships, whether they be with dogs and horses or the people in my life. His silence reminds me of the spirit of all things that connect me to the universe. His silence reminds me to be grateful, to be awestruck, and to drink in the beauty of all things.

Most importantly, His silence is a reminder He’s still there, loving me through ‘the dark night of the soul’. Those days, whether measured in weeks or years, will come for all of us. Feelings of doubt and even futility, but they will pass eventually, and probably do so in the most unlikely of ways. It might even come straight from the horse’s mouth…

Chronic Illness, Communication, Emotional Health, Faith, Family, Gratitude, Letting Go, Listening, Marriage, Patience, Relationships, Uncategorized, Writing

One Man’s Trash…

gregoryjoel

It’s a bit warm out here on the porch this morning. We’ve been under an excessive heat warning for the last week and the forecasted high today is 110 degrees. The answer to ‘how are you doing?” is, simply put, HOT. I feel like all I do anymore is complain about the heat. Still, I’m grateful I’m able to get the things done, especially outside, that need to be done despite our heat wave. At least I’m not one of the ambulance statistics I hear on the news each night that has succumbed to the high temperature…

Margaret is doing much better after her procedure last week. I got up and made coffee this morning and she came in the kitchen and made breakfast. That probably doesn’t sound like big deal to most folks, but it is for us. Her mobility has been diminished by the pain in her hips and back and she’s really been struggling the last few weeks with the pain. Prayer, a great pain doctor, and an even greater God has worked wonders. It helps that Margaret is one of the most persistent, patient, and courageous people I know. After five-and-a-half years of marriage I still wonder how I ended up sharing life with such an incredibly wise and wonderful woman. She married me so maybe I need to rethink the ‘wise’ part…

Our normally quiet life has been somewhat upended over the past week. Our granddaughter has been here for the last week, along with our friend who is our ‘adopted’ granddaughter. Our son is moving out of his house and thought he’d have to move in with us, so I’ve been clearing out the third bedroom we use for storage. That may not sound like much, but believe me, it is. There were boxes (and boxes and boxes…) of stuff that haven’t been opened since we moved in five years ago. Once I had almost everything out of the room and started to go through them, he announced that he’d found a house and wouldn’t be moving in after all.

I was relieved he wasn’t moving in. He’s a grown man and needs to be in his own home, for his sake and ours. However, I’ll tell you I was a bit pissed that I’d spent all weekend going through the endless stream of boxes coming from the bedroom. I swear they were reproducing in there. Still, I tackled a project I’d been putting off for the last five years, waiting for my wife’s decisions on what stays and what goes. Because we rarely go in that bedroom there hasn’t been any urgency in getting it done, at least on her part. I get antsy, but, hey, ‘Out of sight, out of mind…’.

The third bedroom has served as a reminder that even though Margaret and I are united in marriage, we still have our unique personalities and sense of self. I am a minimalist in many ways. Margaret is not. While she’s not a hoarder by any stretch of the imagination, she and I differ on keeping things. My approach to stuff is that if it hasn’t been used, worn, or looked at in the last year, it probably needs to find its way to the trash, recycling bin, or be donated – unless it’s tools, music, or books. I’ll give away tools I haven’t used in twenty years only to need one of them the next day. I have a few things that have sentimental value, but for the most part, stuff is an annoyance. Maybe it’s simply a reminder that so much has been lost to my bad decisions and personal demons…

One of my shortcomings is that I tend to organize my surroundings to fix what’s going on internally. Let me get ‘writer’s block’ or become frustrated and I have the most organized and dust-free office you’ve ever seen. I guess keeping a minimal amount of stuff helps me to be more introspective and stay the course, wherever it may lead. She reminds me that even shortcomings can become assets that allow me to grow.

We’ve accomplished a lot this weekend. The trips to the donation station and the stuff on the curb speaks volumes (although my trash service probably wishes we were a little quieter…). There’s still a way to go before we’re finished, but life feels a little less cluttered. We accomplished it together. That’s what’s most important.

Children, Christianity, Community, Emotional Health, Faith, Family, Gardening, Grace, Gratitude, Growing Up, Love, Marriage, Prayer, Relationships, Simplicity, Spirituality, Texas, Uncategorized

Farms and old green trucks…

gregoryjoel

It’s been a productive weekend. I hope it continues into the weekdays. Since they took my PICC line out I’ve experienced the freedom to sweat like everyone else. Believe it or not, I enjoy it. I get to work outside in the garden and go to the stables most days. I’m close enough to the house that I go in a cool off when it gets too much.

There’s something about the physical labor that calms my spirit and reconnects me to the things that are truly important in life. I pray a lot when I’m doing manual labor. We have a friend who calls it ‘dirt therapy’. I’m sure many of you understand.

I was telling Margaret this morning that I’ve been unusually nostalgic lately. It seems to be directly proportionate to the gratitude I feel. The more gratitude I have, the more reminiscent I get. I’ve recalled memories I haven’t thought of in years and I’ve noticed changes more acutely. Maybe it’s simply coming up on the ‘Big 6-0’. The reason isn’t important. It’s good to be reflective at times. My wife says it’s just because I’m getting old. I didn’t hesitate to remind her that she’s not far behind me. My bad…

I grew up in Fort Worth, but I spent my summer vacations with either my Uncle Carl on his ranch in South Texas or on my Uncle Roof’s dairy farm just northwest of Fort Worth. I may live in the city but I’m just an old country boy at heart. That’s one of the things I love about living on the westside in White Settlement. It has a small-town feel despite being a part of one of the largest metropolitan areas in Texas. The real estate developers saved the westside for last, I guess. Urban sprawl has favored moving north and south. The eastside is hemmed in by the ‘mid-cities’. Unfortunately, I spied several new developments on my last drive through the western edges of Tarrant County. It’s a little scary…

I don’t remember my childhood like many people do. I had a counseling professional tell me it was probably related to some trauma during my youth. I must’ve been abused in some way. I didn’t think that was the case, but I gave it serious consideration. The only thing I could come up with is the one time my Grandmother, who never engaged in corporal punishment, gave me a spanking because I was playing with matches and almost burned the carport down. Now that was traumatic…

I suppose that’s why I’ve come to cherish the memories when they come up these days. Unlike my right-wing friends, I don’t long for the ‘old days’, but I appreciate the little things I remember. One of my earliest, and favorite, memories is of my father’s 1951 Chevrolet pick-up truck. Trucks like that belong on a farm.

The truck was Hunter Green and had wooden side-boards so it could haul more papers. My dad had a third job ‘throwing’ a local paper called The Shopper on Saturday nights for a Sunday morning delivery. He’d often go straight there from his second job at a Striplings, a local department store.

I remember Dad coming home exhausted, around four-thirty or so on Sunday mornings. He’d crawl into bed for an hour and then get up, get dressed, and take the family to church. Sunday lunch always followed, and it was always a time to get with another family from church for lunch. If we were lucky, we got to go to Wyatt’s Cafeteria and eat out. It always seemed like a real treat, although I’d give anything to have Mom’s homemade Sunday dinner again…

Dad usually took a nap on Sunday afternoon. That meant I could turn on the matinee of old horror movies that came on every Sunday. There were always two of them and I hated to see the second one end. It meant that soon Dad would get up, pack his suitcase, and leave for the train station. Our primary income came from his job as a traveling auditor for the FW&D Railroad. He would take the train to wherever he was going along the line, work for the week, and return on Friday night in time to work his other two jobs on the weekend. The only thing I liked about his job was the occasional visits to the trainyard and the gift he brought me each time he was away.

If there really is trauma somewhere in my young life it had to be one Saturday evening when Dad was leaving to throw papers. He hugged and kissed my mother and I and headed out to the truck. I don’t remember the details and I’ve relied on my father’s telling of the story over the years. Apparently, I broke away from Mom, little legs pumping as fast as they could, and launched myself around my father’s legs. “Please don’t go, Daddy, please don’t go!”, I pleaded as tears ran down my face.

Dad picked me up and hugged me until I stopped sobbing. “I love you, Daddy”, I cried over and over. I eventually calmed down. Dad was late for work that Saturday night. He quit his job at Stripling’s on Monday. He continued to throw papers since he was gone while I was asleep. Not long after, he received a promotion from the railroad and only had to travel occasionally. He was home most of the time and I loved it.

What I didn’t know, until I was well into adulthood, was that my father worked so much so he could pay back my grandmother for loaning him the adoption fees for me. My parents couldn’t have children and wanted them desperately.  My sister and I were both adopted. My dad always told me that we were special because we were gifts and were chosen to be their kids. We were ‘handpicked’! He couldn’t stand to be away from us after that Saturday night so long ago.

Dad’s been gone since 2002 and not a day goes by that I don’t miss him. He’s the one that showed me what my Heavenly Father is like. His love was truly unconditional. Boy, did I test him through the years!

I wish he could see just how wonderful my life is today, despite the difficulties of my past. I’m sure he can. I love you, Dad and I hope I leave a legacy, as you did…

I guess that’s the trauma the professionals talk about. If that’s the extent of it, I’m a truly blessed man. Thinking about it today, I can’t help but pray ‘thank you’ over and over to a mighty God who has shown me so much grace. How can I refrain from loving others after receiving so much love, mercy, and grace?

Anyway, I’m just sitting here enjoying the cool of the morning and enjoying the memories. I still dream about that old green truck. Maybe one day I can run around on the farm…

Christianity, Emotional Health, Faith, Gardening, Gratitude, Hope, Marriage, Neighbors, Prayer, Simplicity, Texas, Writing

Just another Sunday…

gregoryjoel

The days roll by much faster than they used to. It’s hard to believe that July is already here. The heat came earlier than usual this year and the yard is littered with dry leaves that have fallen from the Ash trees. I have a feeling that we all need to get used to warmer weather. It seems like every summer makes it into the record books in one way or another. At least there’s a strong southerly breeze this morning. I still have an hour or so of comfort out here on the porch…

It’s difficult to stay in the moment this morning. I get my little IV infusion buddy taken out tomorrow and I can’t wait. It’s been an annoyance for a couple of months now. My days are planned out around when the IV needs to be changed. The thing that really gets me is not being able to work outside. I know I’ve gone on and on about this before but understand that I don’t do well locked away in the house. Besides, the horses need their cookies and I’ve stayed away from the stables for way too long. Jamison and I both could use some long walks again.

The garden, except for the tomatoes and peppers, has surrendered to the heat. After I go to the doctor in the morning I already have my work out there planned. There’s something about working the soil that soothes the soul. I find a lot of peace and a great deal of joy working in the garden. Between the soil, the dogs, and the horses my life is complete!

It’s been busy this week and there’s really no news nor thoughts to share from the porch this morning. Margaret and I shared some time together. My son stayed the night and joined us for a bit, despite the fact he’s not much of a morning person. Life is simple. Life is good.

I skipped church service this morning. I wanted to steal every moment of cool from the porch this morning. When the sweat finally began to roll I headed inside for my morning ritual of daily news. The most beautiful thing about Sunday is that it’s a slow news day. I’m grateful. Everyone needs a day of rest.

I hope this finds you all well. I’m so grateful for the people God has placed in my life, whether family, close friends, or readers of these wandering thoughts. I spend a lot of time reading your blogs as well and I’m grateful for our community. May you all have a blessed Sunday!